"Ava!" came a hushed and scandalous voice from behind Avalon. "You didn't!"
Avalon turned to see Beatrice staring wide-eyed, like a startled owl, a hand over her mouth and the tips of her orange bob tinged a white-ish gray that had just turned- with strands still changing even now- from what appeared to be shock. She sighed. Always with the dramatics.
"Sublime! Beatrice! How do?" Avalon slipped the little bottle she was holding into her dress pocket.
Beatrice stared very obviously at Avalon's chin in a way that was neither flattering for Avalon to experience nor pleasant for her to watch, as Beatrice's left eyebrow had a funny way of raising and falling frequently like a twitch and her face tilted to the side puffing out her cheek in a grotesque-like manner.
"You have!" Beatrice cried.
"Most likely," Avalon agreed. "And probably never again if it's as bad as you look."
"You've had it gone," Beatrice said more calmly and with acceptance.
Avalon blinked. How on earth did Beatrice know about the constant whistling from her attic? A funny feeling arose in Avalon's fingers and nose as she ran through a mental checklist of all the things Beatrice knew about her. Out loud she said, "Well they're not all that friendly once you get to know them," in a defensive tone. After all, how could Beatrice expect her to live in such a way that forced her to wear over-the-ear headphones 23/7? Electric shocks might have been entertainment Back In The Day, but those days had evolved to gargoyle making and gargoyle taming and there was no better way to enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Avalon opened her mouth to inform her just how old-fashioned she was getting and to recommend some places for her to iron out her creased youth, but Beatrice cut her off. "I just can't get used to you without it!" she said sadly, shaking her head, "All those memories, all those ointment making days..." (Avalon frowned at her) "...You even asked Fernd McMyer to the dance during one concoction!"
"Fernd McMyer was a tooty rave-head who smoked peppermint in his parents garage and shaved his speckled head so we all had to observe his speckles in the daylight sun. No one should have to witness that abomination and the amount of times I've had to cleanse my eyeballs is certainly not cost-effective to my daily living!"
"Oh!" Beatrice laughed. "He did!"
"Rather the misfortune for us," Avalon declared impatiently while Beatrice slapped her knee. "Well, I must be off-" she stopped as Beatrice flickered into her old self and back again. "Beatrice, honestly..."
"But do tell!" Beatrice grabbed her arm. "Why now? Why waste all those wart growing days if you're going to shave it off now?"
Just by gazing into those dark blue eyes Avalon knew that Beatrice had never once cleansed them and this information disturbed her deep down in the cobwebbed crevices of her unused soul.
"What are you blabbing on-?"
Beatrice flickered from her young, thin, orange-haired self to a thin, wrinklier, haggish, silver-haired old woman and Avalon said, "Splintering buttcracks, you're shifting charm is all wrong! Comes on!" and she hustled her out of the Vivaciously Herbacious apothecary and down the street to her own shop.
"No, no, it was a potion. I got this recipe from Portle-"
"OF COURSE you did," said Avalon Angrily. "The ONE ignoramus in town-"
"He owns his own stall!" Beatrice said defensively. "Down-"
"He sells flowers."
"He makes the potions himself! His great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a healer! It-"
"Oh he probably played the flute and wore those funny felt shoes and everyone thought him magical-"
"No, he was a fortune teller," Beatrice puffed, "Read the fortunes- Ava, can we stop... just here..."
Beatrice leaned against a tree, panting, and Avalon wondered if Snakeroot could be used in transportation spells while looking around for a public toilet.
"Portle has never heard of the common decency of sense," Avalon began warmly. She enjoyed conversations that started with how little the people of today knew, which was little. She conjured a floral-patterned teacup and sipped hot black tea with a squeeze of tears from the despaired as she went on, quite forgetting where she was and Beatrice's predicament. "He wears those atrocious headpieces- what are they...?"
"Beanies" Beatrice muttered weakly, leaning and flickering more and more into the tree trunk.
"Yes..." Avalon sipped quickly, taking personal offence at Portle's hat choice but shrugging it off because she disallowed strange negativity in her life. "The beanies. How my knee ached that day I witnessed him flouting one of those beanies in public, causing me to use ALL of my Eye Clenz solution at once in such haste. I lost sight, didn't I!" she exclaimed, "Fell down the stairs... lost all my teeth, all of them! Had to wait two days before I could see again and find them all so I could stuff them back in, and in that time all I had was those idiotic chattering bats in the attic, whistling and talking about the stupidest Dracula play they'd all had the pleasure of watching, how on earth they managed-"
Her teacup was suddenly flung out of her hand and Avalon turned to see Beatrice flickering at such a rate it looked as if she was connected to a light switch and being controlled by a playful child. "What in the black chicken...?"
"My Baby's Breath need watering!" Beatrice screeched.
"My tea!" Avalon cried.
Then Beatrice flickered into thin air.
"Shitsticks!" hissed Avalon furiously. "The work I'll have to do to find a switching person!"
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~Up next week! Will Avalon be forced to spend time with Portle in one of his obscenely yet cleverly hand-made beanies to find her missing friend? Does Avalon miss watching her whistling bat comrades act out Dracula? What was she doing with Snakeroot in her pocket and where is it now?
Stay tuned for more Avalon adventures.
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(6__6)v
